


Headstrong

by fufaraw (arliss)



Series: Headlong [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: ABO, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gen, do not copy to any other site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25197316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arliss/pseuds/fufaraw
Summary: Jared learns about his family and his background. Jensen and the Bell Creek Pack are there to support him as he learns to navigate a world he never expected to have to live in.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles & Jared Padalecki
Series: Headlong [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826146
Comments: 30
Kudos: 51
Collections: Supernatural and J2 Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
> : : :
> 
> **Fic title: Headstrong**  
>  **Author name:** fufaraw  
>  **Artist name:** yanyan  
>  **Genre:** gen  
>  **Pairing:** Jensen and Jared  
>  **Rating:** PG  
>  **Word count:** 21,228  
>  **Warnings:** Were transformations  
>  **Summary:** Jared learns about his family and his background. Jensen and the Bell Creek Pack are there to support him as he learns to navigate a world he never expected to have to live in.

: : :

**Headstrong**

The bookbag landed with excessive force on the countertop.

"Trey Rogers is an enormous jerk!"

Jensen merely watched, toweling his hands dry as Jared raided the fridge for apples and a slab of last night's ham. He demolished half an apple with one bite and chomped furiously, wiping the juice from his lips with the back of one wrist. He started to slam the fridge door, but caught Jensen's eye, and closed it more gently, sparing the cereal boxes on top from tumbling to the floor.

"Sorry," he mumbled through half-masticated apple, moved the bag to the floor and toed it under the table, gathered a plate for the ham, and sandwich fixings. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Jensen, who shook his head, and then sat at the table to construct a sandwich.

"So what's he done now?" Jensen asked mildly, leaning a hip against the counter to watch Jared build his prodigious sandwich.

Jared swallowed apple, and deliberately moderated both his voice and the force with which he assembled his snack while he dialed down his reaction to whatever young Rogers had done. Calmer, he reached for the mustard, knife in his other hand.

"He thinks he's the Maker's gift," he mumbled.

Jensen raised an eyebrow in interest so the kid continued. "He was swaggering around with his little alpha crew, knocked a couple of freshmen into lockers, like—like they weren't even there."

Jensen nodded. "Any teachers around?"

Jared shook his head, spreading mustard over the bread and adding his thick slice of ham. "Probably wouldn't have said anything if there had been."

Trey's dad, Tiberius Junior, was a prominent businessman and a council member in town. The Rogers family was a founding member of Bell Creek, and the present Rogers all took great pride in their community standing. T. Jr.'s younger brother Tommy had been the same, as a classmate of Jensen's. He half-nodded in agreement with Jared. "So what did you do?"

"I just helped Lucy and Glenn up, helped them pick up their books and things." The kid met Jensen's gaze, no guile in his eyes. "I didn't say anything, or look at Trey and the others. We just got their stuff and walked away."

Jensen could feel the resentment at doing nothing coming off the kid, but he nodded and relaxed. "You did good," he said, moving from the sink to press an approving hand on Jared's shoulder. He could almost hear the grumbled "Could'a taken him" the kid was thinking pretty loud, and pressed a little harder before he let go.

"He's not worth getting kicked out of school," Jensen reminded him. And nodded as Jared started, "Why does he—why do all of them—get a pass on being jerks, just because they're alpha?"

"I know it seems that way," Jensen repeated his frequent lesson. "But their time is coming. They're kids, and they have to be taught what being alpha means." Jared's brow furrowed, and Jensen cut short the signs he was winding up for a loud and angry tantrum about fairness. "I don't think it's going to be much longer, either."

Jared's tirade stopped before it really began, and he turned to his mentor, mouth still open just a bit.

"Swallow, dude. I'm not interested in your see-food."

The kid shut his mouth, finished chewing, and gulped the mouthful down. "When? How? What are you talking about, Jensen?"

Jensen got the bottle of juice from the fridge and set it, plus a glass, in front of Jared. "Drink something, before you choke on another mouthful."

Jared poured and drank and set the glass down with a click. "Now tell me!"

"You know the spring run is coming up, right?" Jared nodded. "Well, there's usually a little side ritual for rising alphas that the rest of the pack isn't a part of. Oh, we all know about it, but unless we're personally involved, it doesn't really concern us."

"Side ritual?"

"I'm not sure it concerns you, Jared," Jensen grinned, and Jared rolled his eyes.

"Come on, you can't just say something like that and let it drop. What can you tell me that won't blow the secrecy on this ‘alpha ritual’?"

Jensen let him stew for a minute while he got his own glass and poured himself some juice. "Well, the young ones who have presented, or latecomers who seem likely to present as alpha, are taken aside and put through... an obstacle course separate from the pack's run. It's not just physical; there are tests and scenarios that stress character, decision-making, logistics, strategy, mental and emotional strength, and belief in oneself."

Jared listened, wide-eyed, and Jensen went on."What all youngsters see and covet as alphas is strength and authority over others, the power to make others do what they say, the power to command obedience. It's a rush, for a kid, and almost everybody gets carried away, both with the notion of it, and with the feeling itself."

He took a swallow of juice as Jared nodded his understanding—this is what he was experiencing at school with Trey and his buddies. Jensen sipped again, and went on.

"What the ritual does is create awareness of the responsibility that balances that authority: the decisions an alpha may be called on to make, to sacrifice members of the pack to save the rest, to abandon another to certain death, or worse, in order to keep the pack alive. Those decisions rest on the alpha's shoulders, and they weigh heavy." Jensen sighed. "The honor, respect, and obedience are a result of knowing the burden an alpha carries every day, all the time. They're not something to be expected or commanded just because you popped your knot one morning."

Jared nodded again, and his gaze dropped to the plate and his remaining half-sandwich. He pushed the plate away. "I never thought about it like that."

"Well, no one does, as a kid. That's why the ritual exists. There have been kids who've failed, who, though they may be sexually an alpha, remove themselves from the possibility of power in the pack. Either they, or the ones doing the testing, realize they're not up to making those kinds of decisions. Some of them come into it later on, in adulthood. Most of them are content to support the pack's chosen alpha, to work to provide safety and security to the pack.

"Of the ones who haven't presented, a few do eventually present as beta—who knows if the ritual had a real influence on their presentation? And some who hadn't presented come out of the ritual a newly-presented alpha, usually with a known and accepted sense of responsibility and dedication to guiding and protecting the pack."

Jared gazed into the middle distance for a moment before turning to Jensen. "And nobody but the alphas know anything about this ritual?" Jensen nodded. "So, why tell me?"

Jensen waited a moment before replying. "You haven't had a life among the pack. There are things I don't even know I've forgotten to tell you about, teach you. I've done my best, but there's always going to be something crop up you have no reference for. " He took a breath. "So, this is one way I can help fill in some of the history, the background, of who you are now.

"Another reason is, you haven't presented yet. And I can't get a read on that, at all." He leveled a gaze at the kid, honest and bare. "You'd make a good alpha. You have that inbred responsibility for others, especially those smaller, weaker than you. You have the instinct and willingness to stand up to people being...less than their honorable best," he amended what he'd been going to say, and Jared grinned at the attempt at tact. "You also have the sense to back off when you can tell confrontation isn't going to solve the problem. Which inclines me to suspect you may be beta."

Jared's nose wrinkled, and Jensen interpreted it as rejection of beta status."The pack couldn't exist without betas, Jared. They're the bedrock, the common sense, the workers that get everybody through. They remember and teach each generation the history, as well as newly-learned, practical, applicable, and valuable information. Levelheaded and smart, betas run the pack, never doubt it. Being a beta is a good thing." Jared nodded slowly, accepting and processing Jensen's words.

"And too, I wanted to give you a chance to think about things. You've got another year of high school to make decisions about college, or whatever else you want to do with your life. And you haven't presented yet. That's not unusual for someone turned, rather than born were. But I wanted you to have some knowledge about the roles open to you, depending on how you present, and what you might want to think about, or plan for, depending on your presentation."

Jensen fixed the kid with a direct gaze. "And I figured you're smart enough to keep all this to yourself. Like I said, not everybody knows this. Even alphas who've been through the ritual know not to talk about it, okay?"

Jared nodded, solemnly. "Yes, sure. Okay. And Jensen, thanks. I appreciate the heads up. Can...can I talk to you about some of this? Not now, but sometime? Like, would you be willing to talk to me about how it was for you? I mean, your presenting and your ritual?"

"Yes, I think so," he agreed with Jared. "But not right now. Are you done with that?"

Jared glanced down at his plate like it was yesterday's garbage. "I'm full."

"Okay, then. Clean it up and help me stain those mullions outside."

It had been an interesting year and a half since Irv Delahaute unceremoniously dropped a weedy teenager off at Jensen's, with no more information than he had been "bitten"—by a big dog, Jared thought. Irv drove off in his ancient rattletrap truck, belching clouds of blue smoke, to try and track down that "dog" and find out what had really happened. He left Jensen and Jared staring at each other, until Jensen went in search of a shirt and jacket to augment the thin, threadbare t-shirt that was all Jared wore over his worn-thin, high-water jeans. And a plate of PBJ sandwiches.

Jared had accepted it all, gratefully, and had settled in to help Jensen with some chores around the place. With no spare room, and no idea how long Jared would be staying, they cleaned out the attic and set it up as a cozy, low-ceilinged bedroom for him.

It was left to Jensen to explain to Jared the change that dog bite had wrought in his life. And it was Jensen's hesitation that left him a day late in doing that, and when Jared's first change caught them both by surprise, the situation was...not pretty. And not easy. There had been a lot of yelling. A lot of door-slamming. A lot of reassurance hitting a wall of rejection and denial, and finally, despair.

But by late evening of the second day Jared had stood on the porch, staring into the dark above the lake, tracks of his angry tears dried on his cheeks, barely suppressing the hiccupping breaths after he'd sobbed himself out. Jensen brought out a heavy wool shirt and draped it over those broad, skinny shoulders, and handed off one of two mugs of hot chocolate, standing beside the kid in silent support. Things got a little better after that, though there had been some head-butting and yelling and one or the other walking away, Jensen trying to give the kid some room to get his head around his new circumstances, Jared trying to comprehend and adjust, and sometimes needing to lean a little bit on the only friend he had, and sometimes needing, but unwilling to show it, a little comfort.

Gradually, things started to settle down. Slowly, things got better.

When it became obvious Jared was staying—he wanted to, since he really had noplace else to go, and Jensen realized he liked having the kid around and was unexpectedly dismayed at the thought of him moving on—he decided the attic room was inconvenient and uncomfortable. Jared protested, grateful at having a comfortable, warm, dry place to sleep, but Jensen had a better plan. He and Jared spent the spring and summer closing in half of the porch that ran the length of the cabin in back, overlooking the lake. Cladding the exterior of the new room in siding to match the cabin, with a couple of big windows taking advantage of the lake view, Jensen liked his new bedroom, and moved in as soon as the room was tight, giving Jared his old bedroom.

The interior was finished, just needed paint on the walls. But the exterior of the windows needed staining to match the new siding, and Jensen was finishing that job up today. If Jared helped, they could be done before dark.

Jared had resisted starting school that early spring when he landed on Jensen's doorstep. He was still getting used to his wolf, they should wait till fall and the next school year—give him the summer to acclimate. Jensen understood Jared was stalling, anxious about meeting new people in uncertain and unfamiliar circumstances. More than just a new school, it would be Jared as a new wolf among other wolves for the first time. Jensen allowed it might be intimidating, but it had to happen sometime, and postponing it wouldn't help.

Besides, Jared wouldn't be in classes right away; there were tests for interests and abilities, placement and aptitude, before he could be assigned a class. Jared didn't remember what grade he'd been assigned to at the last school he'd attended. He hadn't actually attended that often, considering he was usually hiding, or recovering from the latest beating his current foster father had meted out.

It took some time to get Jared to talk about his past, and the words came out as painfully as some of his experiences had been. Jensen didn't press him, hoping Jared would open up more once he'd had some time in a stable home to relax and feel secure.

But school was happening. And in the afternoons and evenings, they worked together on the house.

Despite Jared's trepidation at meeting people, other kids liked him. He soon had a circle of friends his own age who liked him, liked spending time with him. And by the time school was over for the summer, his gaggle of friends was likely to show up at the lake almost any day, ready for a day of swimming, sunning, music, loud stupid games all teenagers play, and fun. Jensen stocked cookout supplies and soda and watched Jared play with the others and grow comfortable shifting to run with them in the woods surrounding the lake.

It was after one such day, before the added room was finished, that Jensen woke past midnight, hearing a low keening coming from Jared's attic room. He quietly climbed the access ladder they left down most of the time now, his head clearing the opening in the floor, his eyes sharpening in the dark to find Jared curled tight in a defensive ball, whimpering in a dream.

Jensen pulled up to sit, reaching out to lay a hand on Jared's ankle, intending it to be a comforting touch. But Jared exploded onto his feet, crouched low to avoid the low ceiling, both hands out, fingers spread and claws starting to emerge as he growled in threat.

"Jared!"

The kid's snarl cut off at the sound of Jensen's voice. The claws retracted, the lanky teenaged body collapsed, chest to knees, and started to rock as he sobbed.

"Hey. Hey, hey, hey, Jared," Jensen spoke quietly, his hand hovering close, but not yet touching. "Come here," he offered, and after a second, Jared moved, and crawled into his arms, still sobbing. Jensen wrapped him up and held him while the sobs grew in intensity, and then began to subside into shuddering, exhausted breaths.

"Hey, come downstairs," Jensen urged, moving toward the ladder, a hand still on Jared to urge him forward. "Come on, I'll get us something to drink."

The kid took a huge shuddering breath and nodded, wiping at his face with both hands before he followed Jensen toward the ladder.

Jensen poured them both a glass of ginger ale—soda to settle the stomach, sugar to restore some balance, at least that's what he'd always believed. Jared took his glass and gulped a mouthful. Jensen wet and wrung out a facecloth from the linen closet, and Jared wiped his face down with it, just sat with it in his hands before Jensen took it away and left it in the pottery bowl on the coffee table. "Drink your soda," he said, as he sat down near Jared, giving him some space.

The kid couldn't meet Jensen's eyes, and Jensen sat back, relaxed, as he sipped at his own glass. "Tell me," he encouraged.

Jared opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He shook his head, eyes lowered, shoulders bowed, misery radiating off of him.

"It's okay," Jensen told him. "You're safe. No matter what you say, no matter what you did, or what was done to you, you're safe now. Tell me."

Jensen had done some investigating, when Jared first came. What Jared could tell him was that he remembered his parents, not their faces, or even their voices. But he remembered being loved, feeling safe, until his whole world changed. Their car had been hit, both adults killed, and Jared left alone and at the mercy of strangers. He thought he might have been three or four. He'd stopped trying to remember them long ago. But sometimes when he was dreaming he could almost remember their voices or feel their arms around him. None of Jensen's searches had yielded any information about Jared's family, or his history. Now the kid sat a little straighter, took in a huge breath, and words came out. Slowly at first, his voice rough and low, and gradually stronger, faster, till he was reliving the last few years of his life, right here in Jensen's living room.

The last three foster placements had been tough. The first, the dad had been handsy. Jared had learned never to be alone with him, and had shoved a chair under the doorknob of the room he slept in. The guy could have pushed in, but it would have woken up the mom, so Jared was safe enough to sleep, most nights.

DCS took all the kids away one day, though. The mom was arrested for dealing drugs, and the kids were scattered to other placements.

The mom at the next foster didn't like boys. She petted and pampered girls, but she took every opportunity to slap and pinch the boys living there, constant running garbage out of her mouth about what awful things boys were, the terrible things they did. It escalated often to her screaming obscenities at the boys—never the girls, who nevertheless were cowed and afraid of her, though they behaved as though they liked her so she wouldn't turn on them. Finally DCS removed the kids from her house because her husband had left, and the rules said the foster parents had to be a couple.

The last place, Jared was the oldest, and the man hated him. Blamed him for whatever went wrong in life: a dressing-down from a supervisor, a flat tire on the way to work, a shortfall in his paycheck, whatever, and pulled out his belt at the smallest provocation. His wife never said a word, relieved, Jared figured, that someone else was taking the beatings instead of her. Jared could barely walk some mornings, barely piss for the pain. Most often he would curl up in a corner of an empty warehouse he'd found and try to get through the day without moving, trying to heal enough to make it home for supper. The morning he started pissing blood, he put what clothes he had in his backpack and left for school, and just kept walking.

He found empty buildings to hole up in, caught a few rides when he could, usually with a family. He did some odd jobs, dishwasher, sweeping up, in exchange for food. He kept moving, and stayed away from people as much as possible, keeping his head down and getting by on his own. He'd started to grow in height, so people didn't see him right off as a lost kid or a possible runaway. He used his smile and his gift of conversation to charm his way into working for a meal, or helping out on a big farm in exchange for a sleeping berth in the workers' shack and enough cash to buy shoes and clothes at thrift shops.

He kept looking for someplace he could stop for a while, get a real job, or something close to it, and blend in. Someplace he could rest for a while. He wound up in Bell Creek, sleeping behind the dumpster at the Steak and Chips. And was startled awake in the early morning being chewed on by a big dog. He fought it, managed to grab hold of a discarded length of two by four, and clouted it over the head a few times before it yelped and ran off.

Sherril Means had found Jared in the alley the next morning when he opened up the place, and called Sheriff Beaver. Beaver had thought of Jensen, and called Irv to take the kid up to Jensen's place. And here he was.

He reached for the wet cloth to wipe his face again, and took another swallow of his soda.

Jensen let Jared's words lie for a few moments before speaking.

"The foster system from your last place ever come looking for you?"

Jared sighed and shook his head. "I don't think they were too upset there was one less kid to keep track of." He wiped at his face again, dropped the cloth in the bowl and took another sip of soda.

Jensen nodded, accepting the probability. "Still, you remember the name of the town? Wouldn't hurt to have somebody check. Wouldn't want DCS come hunting you down."

Jared looked up at him, alarmed.

"Hey," Jensen was quick to reassure him. "This is your home. Your family is here. Me, if you'll have me. Maybe the sheriff, some others in town."

Jared blinked. "You'd all do that? For me?"

"Of course." Jensen judged the kid was ready and grinned at him. "We like you, Jared. We'd rather keep you around, if that's okay with you."

Those eyes threatened to spill over again, and Jensen held an arm open in invitation. "Come here. If you're not too grown to accept a hug."

There wasn't a second's hesitation. Jared scrambled from his seat to the space on the couch beside Jensen, and burrowed into the offered hug.

Spring wore on into summer, and when he wasn't hanging out with friends, Jared was underfoot a lot. He did make himself useful, Jensen had to admit, finishing up the addition to the cabin, cleaning and getting the boats ready for use, and clearing out the little boathouse, as well as working alongside Jensen in his shop when someone brought in a repair or refurbishment project.

Jensen did sit him down a couple of nights a week to study colleges and universities Jared might apply to, places he might want to visit, to decide where he wanted to go after high school. Jared was surprised to learn that most schools were in towns that had at least small groups of weres, so he wouldn't be alone in another strange place. They had started a list of likely places, and Jared was studying background and course lists, concentration of studies for each school.

So far, he wasn't particularly attracted to any of them.

"That's okay, really," Jensen told him. "You're starting late. A lot of your classmates started visiting campuses their junior year."

Jared looked a little worried, and Jensen reassured him. "Don't worry. If you don't make a decision now, you can always take a gap year after graduation. We can get you into an independent study, or pursue one here at home, in a subject that interests you. It would give you more time to make an informed decision about where you want to apply, where you think your interests and abilities will be best used, to guide you into whatever you want to do with your life."

Jared stared at him, his mouth open just a little. Jensen grinned. "Hey, I know it's a lot. Don't let it scare you. There's time, and you want to do your research, and make an informed decision."

Jared nodded slowly, his eyes skimming over the web page for a huge, well-known university. "That place must cost a fortune." He shook his head.

"Probably," Jensen agreed. "But don't let that guide your choices. There's funding available. I mean, don't choose the expensive university because of its rep as a party school." He ducked a little to catch Jared's eye and grinned. The kid smiled, just a little, in response. "But if you decide you want to be a doctor, there's funding."

Jared made a dismissive noise. "Me, a doctor? Right."

"Or a lawyer, or an astrophysicist—but I don't think we've ever had a were astronaut." Jensen thought for a minute before he shrugged. "Still. Stranger things, kiddo." He smiled. "But the money's there, if that's what you decide to do."

"How?"

"It's a community thing. Don't worry, is all I'm saying." Jensen rose and moved toward the kitchen. "Finish your notes and pack all that away. Pork chops and cornbread for supper. You cook, I'll set the table."

As Jared started packing up his notes and the laptop, Jensen teased with a grin, "Try not to burn the cornbread this time."

: : :

  
****


	2. Chapter 2

: : :

Jensen met with a few pack adults at Molly's Diner, an informal planning meeting for the upcoming spring run. The sheriff, Jim Beaver, was there, along with Irv, and Jody Mills, principal of the high school. Misha Collins and his wife were in attendance, to be expected since Molly Fraser had been Misha's aunt, and had left him the diner when she died. A few other town lights were there as well, though the meeting was pretty much a formality. Pack runs, spring or fall, seemed to more or less happen on their own.

"Do we have any concerns about perimeter security?" Lionel Atkins wanted to know.

"Not that I know of, Lionel,” Jim answered. "Is there reason for concern?"

"Well, that stray last year, the one that bit the Larson kid. We never found the wolf responsible, did we? Was he part of a pack? Has anybody run into any strangers anywhere around town?"

The others met his searching gaze uneasily. Jim spoke up to ease the tension. "Not to my knowledge, Lionel." Beaver cast his gaze around the group and asked in his official capacity, "Anybody met stranger weres anywhere near town?"

No one had. "Well, good," Jim said. "Still, it never hurts to be careful. We can appoint a few people who're willing to miss the festivities and patrol the outskirts of pack land while the run is taking place." He glanced around to see how the others felt about it. "Okay, I'm making a motion—any seconds?"

Two people spoke up, and Jim called for a show of hands. It was unanimous, and Beaver picked up his soda glass and tapped it on the table. "Passed. Each of you talk to people you know who might like to patrol, and get back to me, all right?"

There was a murmur of assent, and they moved on to other business.

Jensen called on Kim. "We need to know if there are obvious candidates for the Alpha ritual for this run."

"I've been keeping a list," Rhodes told the group. "And if any of you have any candidates, I'll be glad to add them to the list." She turned to Jensen. "Do you need any input on setting up the ritual?" She widened her gaze to include the group as a whole. "Are there any specifics you feel should be covered or emphasized?"

There were nods, a few murmurs, and Jensen raised a hand. "Why don't we all jot down our thoughts about this and, meet, say Thursday night to talk about it? You're welcome to come out to the lake if we need someplace to meet." He swept the group with a grin. "I think I have enough chairs to seat everybody. I can offer coffee and cake—of course, I have to talk Jared into baking."

His offer got chuckles in response. Misha spoke up. "I can bring cake—or pie?"

"Pie means dishes. Which means dishwashing. I don't know if I'm up for dishwashing after you people," Jensen said, and Vicki poked him in the arm.

"I'll help clean up," she volunteered, before turning to the group. "So, Thursday at Jensen's? What time?"

After some back and forth 7:30 was decided on. "Anything else we need to handle today?" Jim asked, and when nothing was forthcoming he dismissed everybody, except the three or four who decided to stay for pie and coffee.

Jensen was routing the edge of a piece of cherrywood for Melly Abbott's side table when his phone buzzed in his pocket late Tuesday morning. He shut off the tool and fished out the phone. "Hello."

"...and I hear what you're saying, Anton, but it's gonna take me some time to get there." Jim's voice came through the speaker.

"Sheriff? What are you—"

"Now listen, how about I send Rafer down to Sutter's to talk to them, see if he can get them to quit felling trees on your land? If he can't make them see reason, I'll follow up with a court order, okay? But I'd like to try and resolve this without resorting to that."

"Yeah, okay," Jensen said. "Got it."

"Well, all right then. I'll talk to you soon," Jim said, before ending the call.

'I need to meet you in half an hour at Wright's garage,' Jensen had no trouble deciphering Jim's code: 'Human stranger, need to talk to you.' Didn't keep him from wondering what that was all about.

Twenty minutes later Jensen pulled in at Wright's and parked out by the back fence, behind the small car graveyard Tony Wright had inherited from his father-in-law, Roy Sutter, along with the shop and office buildings. From his shady spot overhung by tall old trees Jensen saw when the Sheriff's cruiser pulled in, and waited till Jim drove back and parked near him along the back fence. Jim got out, ducking down to catch Jensen's eye, and motioned for Jensen to join him.

"How you doin', boy?" Jim wanted to know.

"Fine, until I got this cloak-and-dagger call of yours. What's up?"

Jim put both palms on his back and stretched, wincing a little in pain, before he turned to Jensen with a somber expression on his face. "Man come in from out of town," he said, leaning back against the cruiser's front fender. "Jensen, he's looking for Jared."

Jensen tamped down his instant of alarm, and took a breath. "Did he say why?"

Jim nodded. "Seems like Jared wasn't the orphan he told us."

Jensen shook his head. "The kid didn't lie about that, Jim—"

The sheriff raised a hand to forestall protest. "I never said he lied. But apparently, he has a family—or had one. But when his parents died, somebody slipped up in identifying the boy, and then he disappeared into the system in not one, but two different states."

"How can that happen?"

"I don't know. But this fella's got legal paperwork and court orders from two states, and he's here for Jared."

Jensen's feet shuffled in the dust as he tried to calm his reaction to protect. "How do you mean, 'here for Jared?' Is he planning to—take custody of him? Take Jared with him somewhere? The hell is going on, Jim?"

Beaver maintained his demeanor, concerned but calm, and that helped Jensen not to escalate his own response. Jim sighed.

"From what I understand, the family's rich. Like, old money, well-known in Boston society."

"Boston?'

Jim nodded. "The...patriarch, if you will, died recently, and without an heir. There was a great-nephew, but the boy left the family nearly twenty years ago when his choice of bride was disputed. He and the girl disappeared, and neither has been heard from again.

"It wasn't until the old man died that the search became urgent. And then it took some time to track the boy to the accident that killed him and his wife. It was only in investigating them that the news of their little boy came to light."

"Jared."

Jim nodded. "Jared. He was handed over to DCS in the state where he and his parents lived. He moved from foster home to foster home. And on at least one occasion he ran away, and was caught by child services in another state, and put into their foster system."

Jensen nodded. He could see the tangle the investigators had had to unravel. Too bad they'd managed it. "And then he ran, and disappeared again."

"Except somehow they tracked him here," Jim said.

"Damn!"

Morosely, Beaver agreed with him. "Yep."

After a moment to absorb it all, Jensen asked, "So what does this guy expect, that Jared will just pack his bags and go with him? What about what Jared wants?"

"Well, first, he just wants to meet Jared, talk to him, and explain everything. I think you should be with him, though. You still have that paperwork making you Jared's legal guardian?"

Jensen nodded emphatically. "You bet I do." When it had become clear Jared was staying, Jensen had offered to be legally responsible for the kid until he reached legal majority. They'd had a little ceremony at the time. The certificate and related paperwork were carefully stored in the fireproof box under Jensen's desk.

"That's good. We may need that."

Jensen nodded, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "So, what now?"

"Well, the guy's really anxious to meet Jared. In fact that's why I called you out here. I didn't want to explain over the phone—especially not with him in the office, listening. And I didn't want you coming into town and being taken by surprise by all of this."

Jensen's eyebrows rose, and he nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for that."

"And an even worse idea was him showing up on your front porch to see Jared with no warning at all—which I don't doubt was his next move."

Jensen's eyes widened at the thought, but Jim continued. "So I think you need to come on into town and let me introduce you. And maybe you can talk him into giving you some time to talk to Jared, prepare him, before those two meet."

Sounded like a plan to Jensen. He agreed.

"And Jensen, I think you ought to stick with Jared while he and this lawyer talk. I know the kid's smart, but this is going to be a whole load of unexpected history for him, and he's going to need help dealing with it."

Jensen nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"And it won't hurt to get the family used to you being Jared's protector, either."

Yeah, Jensen agreed. There was that.

Jensen was in Jim's office at 2:30. The lawyer was tall and thin.The black suit he was wearing may have been plain and subdued, but Jensen recognized the fabric, the cut, and the stitching as designer quality, and his wariness rose a notch or two. Jim introduced them, and offered them his private office for their meeting. They turned down coffee, and each took a seat. Mr. Landau was gracious and soft-spoken. Jensen was guarded.

"The sheriff has no doubt informed you why I'm here," Landau said.

"He didn't go into it in any depth," Jensen replied. "Why don't you start at the beginning."

So Landau explained about the estrangement, the losing contact.

"And there were no other children?" Jensen wanted to know. "No children of Mr. Padelecki's own? No more children of his siblings?"

"He only had the one sister," Landau said. "And Andrew was her only child. Lucy died before Andrew had finished school, so Lucas became his guardian. And it was as guardian that Lucas rejected Andrew's choice of a bride."

"He doesn't sound like a particularly warm sort of person," Jensen mused. And Landau's lips twitched in a repressed smile.

"No. Kindness was not one of his virtues," Mr. Landau agreed. "But he was completely family-oriented. And he was adamant that the family fortune, and responsibility for the various businesses and industries the Padalecki family owns and manages, become the responsibility of the Padalecki heir, Andrew's son."

"Who's running them now?"

"Lucas Padalecki put together an administrative board to manage during the interim between his death and the location and installation of the heir."

"And what if the heir has other ideas? What if he has his own goals and plans for his life?"

Landau steepled his fingers and didn't meet Jensen's eyes as he answered. "I would think the heir—Jared, is it?—would at least like a chance to see and explore his inheritance. I think he might be impressed with the power and the magnitude of what is his by right." He paused. "And I think he would appreciate the opportunity to examine this opportunity himself."

Jensen shifted in his seat and wished he had a cup of coffee to fiddle with. In fact he could use some caffeine. He rose and stepped to the door. "Riley? Could you bring us some coffee, please?"

"None for me," Landau said as Jensen paced a little before taking his seat again. He leaned forward, easing the fabric of his jeans over his knees, and fixed Landau with a candid gaze.

"Jared's a kid," he said.

"I'm aware. Seventeen? Birthday in...seven months?"

Jensen nodded. "You know his history? What he went through after his parents died?"

"I have read through the facts, yes."

"He's found a home here. He's working hard in school. He has friends, and he's exploring options for what he wants after school—looking at colleges." Jensen's gaze fastened on Landau's face, reading his reaction. "Why would you want to take him away from the first home he's had, from his friends, from the life he's built, and dump him down among strangers, with a load of responsibility he has no idea how to manage?"

Landau took a moment, and there was a tap at the door. "Come," Jensen said, and Riley brought in a tray with two mugs, sugar and creamer packets, and a couple of plastic stirrers. "Thanks, Riley. Just set it on the desk." Jensen reached for a mug and sat back in his chair a little as the door clicked shut behind the deputy.

Landau waited until Jensen's third sip. "Because he's a Padalecki—the only remaining Padalecki," he said. "This is his family, his heritage. It belongs to him." He took a breath. "And, he to it."

"It's too much," Jensen protested, quietly.

"He will rise to the challenge," Landau assured him. "It's what Padaleckis do."

They left it that Mr. Landau would come out to the cabin the next day for lunch, to meet Jared, and talk. Jensen had no choice but to trust Landau was a man of his word, and wouldn't show up before noon to ambush Jared and Jensen both. Landau's hand twitched at his side, preparing to offer a handshake he abandoned when Jensen broke eye contact and moved toward Jim's office door, putting space between them. Jensen stopped and turned back to the lawyer as a thought occurred to him. "If you can, find photos of his parents, and bring them with you, and any information you can find out about their lives—people who knew them, as students, as friends, as people. You have a list of properties and responsibilities you expect Jared to accept and shoulder. Bring him some relic of the love his parents had for each other, and for him. It might help balance your bargaining a bit."

Landau blinked, nodded, and made a note on his phone. "Till tomorrow, then," the lawyer said, a verbal contract.

Jensen didn't reply, gave a single grudging nod of affirmation as he strode out of Jim's office, catching Jim's eye with a light headshake to prevent having to stop to chat as he made for the street door. He was in his jeep in seconds, and headed out of town.

He had to think how to tell Jared.

He called the kid in to help him with Miz Abbott's table when he got home from school. Jensen had enough experience to know by now that the most useful conversations always took place while driving—two people in a confined space and unable to face each other head on. Or while working on something together—physical exertion, hands-on cooperation. Something about those situations helped ensure one or the other couldn't just walk away, didn't give a chance to second-guess and come up with excuses. So, woodwork together would serve for this discussion.

Jensen didn't go into deep detail, just that someone was coming by tomorrow who had some information about Jared's birth family and wanted to talk to Jared. Jensen would be there, if Jared wanted, or he could make himself scarce so he and the visitor could talk privately.

"No," Jared was quick to say. "No, I want you there, please. If you don't mind. Whatever he has to say, I want you to hear it, too."

"Okay, I'll be there. And hey, even if it turns out to be a waste of time, you get a day off school, right?" Jensen grinned, taking some of the sting out of Jared's apprehension.

"Yeah," Jared smiled, wrapping a quilted moving blanket around the finished table so Jensen could deliver it tomorrow, or the next day. He got the light, pulled the door shut behind him and tested the lock before following Jensen into the house for supper.

Jared picked at his breakfast, and picked at Jensen, too, trying to pry more information out of him about what this stranger might want from Jared. "But why now, Jensen? After all these years?"

"I don't know, Jared," Jensen repeated patiently. "That's one of the things you can ask him when he gets here."

And as Jared opened his mouth for yet another question, Jensen sent him out to tip the kayak and canoe to drain in the sun. And check the rowboat for water on the floorboards as well.

They left the front door open to pull the breeze wafting in the back door from the lake, the screen door the only barrier to walking right into the living room. So Mr. Landau was visible as soon as he stepped onto the porch, and Jared was on his feet at the first sound of a footfall. He glanced at Jensen, and at his nod went to open the screen for the lawyer.

He wore the same black suit. Jensen was amused at himself for noticing, and went on to catalogue a different tie, pair of shoes, and cufflinks than the ones Landau had worn at their first meeting. "Jared, this is Mr. Landau," Jensen broke the ice, and then stood back and let the lawyer sink or swim on his own.

"Pleased to meet you," Jared said, shaking the proffered hand. "I understand you have some information about my parents?" The hopeful eagerness nearly broke Jensen's heart, but apparently Mr. Landau had taken Jensen's advice.

"Yes, Jared," Landau smiled. "Can we sit? I brought some things I thought you might want to see."

"Lunch is ready," Jensen offered. "If you'd like to eat first?" Landau looked to Jared, who shook his head, eager to see whatever the man had brought. So the three of them sat at the dining table, pushing aside a couple of magazines, a box of small machine parts, and a stack of library books to give the lawyer room to spread things out on the table's surface. One by one he laid photographs out in apparent chronological order. "This is your mother," he said, pointing to a faded school portrait of a sweet-faced girl, her bright smile bracketed by deep dimples. "Annaleigh Marie Carmody." Landau spoke her name with a smile, watching Jared's reaction.

Jared flashed a look up at Jensen, touching the pictured dimples with a fingertip. "I guess I got 'em honest, huh?" he said, smiling.

Jensen smiled back. "You sure did."

Landau continued laying out photographs, all of Annaleigh at different ages, less than a dozen altogether. Jared touched each one with a reverent finger, and gave every one his rapt attention.

"And this is your father," Landau dealt out nearly twice as many photos of a young child, and of an older boy growing into a young man. "Andrew Carter Padalecki." Jared's hand stopped where it was reaching for the corner of a photo. "Pad—Paddle--?"

"Padalecki." The lawyer's voice was firm and sure on the syllables, and Jared looked from him to Jensen.

"Pada-lecki? For real?"

"Yes, Jared, for real. Your family is well-known and respected in Boston, where your father was born, and where your family's properties and assets are based."

Jared's eyes grew round, and he pushed back a little from the table. "Assets? What ...assets?"

"Why don't we save that discussion for after lunch," Jensen suggested. "Maybe you can tell Jared more about his parents and his family while we eat, before you get into the business end of things, yes?"

Jared nodded eagerly, and Landau had the grace to give a rueful smile. "Of course. I am a bit hungry. I'm afraid I skimped on breakfast."

"Did you eat at Molly's?" Jared wanted to know, while he was pulling a container of potato salad and another of cut up raw vegetables from the fridge. "Because skimping Molly's breakfast is a sin!"

Jensen had sliced roast beef stacked on a platter, the fork tucked along the side. Jared set his containers down on the back porch table and came back for jars of mustard and horseradish sauce, napkins, forks, and knives. Jensen brought out a tray of home-baked sandwich rolls, a pitcher of iced tea, and Jared the plates and glasses. "Sit," Jared urged the lawyer, setting a plate and utensils before him, while Jensen passed a glass and set the pitcher down within Landau's reach. Jared went back to grab a bag of chips and the dip for them and the crudites and then finally took his seat.

The lawyer surveyed the table brimming with food, and the lake sparkling beyond the shade of the porch roof, and settled more easily in his chair. "This is impressive."

Jared shrugged, slathering mustard on a roll. "We had roast for dinner, night before last." He grinned, unable to resist a little bragging. "These are leftovers."

"Jared." It was a gentle rebuke, but the grin dimmed a little. "We as often make do with PBJ," Jensen told the lawyer. "Depends on how recent the last grocery run was, and how busy we've been." He forked a couple of slices of beef onto his own roll. "This week, time and on-hand supplies worked out." He exchanged a glance with Jared. "Lucky."

Jared nodded and then surveyed his sandwich. "Cheese!" he noticed a lack, and turned to Landau. "Would you like cheese on your sandwich? I'm going to melt some Swiss on mine."

Landau smiled and passed on the cheese, watching Jared take his plate into the house, with an expression approaching affection.

"He does love him some cheese," Jensen murmured, and Landau turned to him with a silent laugh.

"Yes, I can see that. He's really a rather remarkable young man, isn't he?"

"He's a kid," Jensen lost the humor. "A good kid, but still just a kid. Keep that in mind."

Landau's smile faded, and his impulse was to argue, but Jensen's demeanor as well as his words made him hesitate, and then let the moment pass. It was clear the man had Jared's best interests at heart. The lawyer couldn't fault him for that.

"So Mr. Padalecki—"

"Your grandfather," Landau reminded Jared. They had adjourned to the living room, the lawyer having declined the offer of a walk around the lake. Jensen had cleared the table with Jared's help. They worked as a team, Landau noted, moving around each other efficiently to package and refrigerate leftovers and rinse the dishes. When they had finished and joined Landau in the living room, Landau was eager to get the discussion back on track. Jared was eager as well, apparently, as he turned to the lawyer from his seat on the ottoman.

"So," Jared began without easing into it, "Mr. Padalecki disapproved of my mother, forbade my dad to marry her. And when they ran away together he disowned them? Do I have that right?"

The lawyer nodded.

"He made no effort to find them, to repair their relationship, to get to know my mother, or to ask forgiveness for what he'd done. He just turned his back on both of them, is that right?"

"Yes." Landau had nothing to soften his deceased client's behavior.

"He never knew I existed. He never even asked if there was a possibility he had a grandchild. He never actually cared how my parents were living, what problems they may have had," Jared mused. "When he disowned them, it was for good, as far as he was concerned."

Landau flicked a glance at Jensen, who regarded him impassively, waiting for his answer. He looked back to Jared. "Yes. I'm afraid Mr. Padalecki was neither a flexible nor forgiving man."

"So why, all of a sudden, are his people tracking me down?" Jared wondered. He rose from his seat, took a couple of steps and turned back to the lawyer. "What's all this interest in me, from out of nowhere, now he's dead?" He threw a glance at Jensen before his gaze settled on Landau. "How did you track me down?"

"We have very good investigators on staff," Landau began, and Jared cut him off.

"And why now? After all this time?" His gaze fell to the floor before rising to fix on the lawyer. "And what makes any of you think I want anything from you now?"

He turned, giving the lawyer his back, and Landau was suddenly aware of a charged undercurrent in the room. He could see Jared's shoulders quivering, and realized it wasn't tears shaking the boy, it was anger. Jensen met Landau's uneasy gaze as he stepped forward and laid a hand on Jared's shoulder. Landau could see the fingers grip, providing an anchor. After a minute or two Jensen looked Jared in the face. "You all right?"

Jared gave a curt nod, and Landau could see as well as sense some of the tension leave him. Jared turned slowly to face Landau again. "I'll need all the information you have on my parents—their history before they met, whatever you have, and everything up to and after their marriage."

"I don't know..."

"You have it. It's my history. I have a right to know."

Landau hesitated only another minute before he relaxed, and agreed. "Of course."

"Thank you." Jared nodded and exchanged a glance with Jensen before he added, "Goodbye, Mr. Landau," and left the room.

"But—wait—" There was still so much to discuss, and most of the afternoon and evening before them. The visit couldn't be over yet.

Jensen took a step toward him and met his gaze. "I think Jared's had enough for now. It's best if we let him digest all this new information." He gestured toward the loosely-stacked photographs the lawyer had brought.

"Come back tomorrow, for breakfast, if you like," he smiled, recalling Landau having "skimped" on this morning's meal. "We'll feed you, and then you can tell Jared more about why you're here."

He didn't like it. The lawyer in him wanted to get down to the actual purpose of his visit. He needed to get the kid on board, and ready to move to Boston, start in a new school, begin learning about the business. But—Jared's expression and demeanor had said very clearly he wasn't ready for that, at least not today. "Perhaps you're right."

"Good," Jensen said. "So, we'll see you around 9:00, then?"

Landau nodded.

"And if you've got them, wear comfortable clothes. We don't stand on ceremony much around here." Jensen held out a hand, and the lawyer shook it.

"I'll...just leave the photos for Jared," he gestured toward the table where the pictures were still laid out, and felt rewarded at the man's slight smile of approval. "Nine tomorrow morning, then." And the screen door closed behind him.

: : :

  
****


	3. Chapter 3

: : :

Jensen found Jared in a favorite spot, on a tiny crescent of beach hidden between woods that grew nearly to the water's edge. With an arm like a metronome, he was skipping rocks, one after the other, waiting only to watch until they sank before pitching another. "He gone?"

Jensen nodded.

"Too much to hope that's the last we'll see of him, huh?" Jared flung another rock. Extra force skipped this one five times before sinking.

Jensen scooped up a couple of stones, turning them over and feeling the shape of them. He fired one toward the center of the lake. "No," he agreed. The rock skipped four times before it sank. "He's coming back for breakfast in the morning." He peered sideways at Jared, judging his reaction. "I thought pancakes and coffee. Maybe with some of that raspberry jam we made last summer?" The next rock sank after three skips.

Jared made a scoffing noise. "You gonna waste good berry jam on a lawyer?"

He bounced the last rock in his hand before he fired it straight across the surface of the lake. Five times before it sank.

"It's your jam," Jensen said, his next rock skipped four times. "You get to choose who you share it with."

Jared stared out at the far shore. "We could do buttered biscuits with the jam."

Jensen nodded agreement, and Jared went on. "And, ooh, eggs over easy—sopping up all that runny yolk with the buttery biscuits-- Man, I'm hungry." There was a near-smile on his face when he turned to face Jensen. "What's for dinner?"

"Leftovers? Or maybe we do the biscuits and eggs tonight. With bacon? What do you say?"

Jared started back toward the cabin, and Jensen fell in step beside him. "Let me think about it."

"Sure."

Jared noticed the photos Landau had left on the table and went to spread them out and look at them while Jensen got started on the biscuits. After a minute or two, he retrieved his laptop and brought it to the dining table.

"What're you doing?" Jensen asked.

"I've got names, now. And a location." Jared glanced up as he started typing in information. "I didn't have a beginning place to search before."

"You know the lawyer's going to go through all of that tomorrow. Why not wait till then?"

Jared just shot him a skeptical look, and kept typing. After a few minutes, he muttered "gotcha" under his breath.

"What've you found?" Jensen wanted to know. Absorbed, Jared kept typing and didn't answer. Jensen grabbed a towel and wiped his hands as he came and stood behind Jared to look over his shoulder. The kid had found some information on his father, had marked it to read later, and was continuing to search on his mother's name. "Hey, nice work."

Jared nodded. "Yeah, I don't know what or how much he's going to share. So I thought I'd see what I can find, be ready to ask more than he's expecting."

"You think he's going to try and keep things from you?"

Unexpectedly, Jared shoved back away from the table and stood, leaving Jensen to backpedal out of his way. "I don't know anything, Jensen. I don't know why he's here. I don't know what he—what the Board of Directors expects from me. And I don't know if I want anything to do with any of it."

He ran a hand through his hair and with a visible effort, stood straight and met Jensen's eyes. "I've been—alone—all my life, as far as I've known. I just want to know where I came from. If these are my parents," he waved a hand at the table where the laptop and the scattered photos were, "I think I deserve to know as much as possible about them."

Jensen nodded, and drew breath to agree.

"I want to know why I was left all alone—why nobody came looking for me." The next breath was a sob, and the words were blurred with tears. "All my life—so alone. So afraid. I want to know why..."

Jensen gathered him in, held him until he felt the tension loosen, let him catch his breath. Jared stood back, wiped his face with his hands, and Jensen offered him the towel. Flour mixed with the tears and left doughy streaks. "Biscuit-face," Jensen teased, and Jared huffed a shaky laugh, and clapped Jensen's shoulder in thanks.

"Go wash up," Jensen said, and gestured at the laptop and things strewn on the table. "Come back and pack this up for now, and dinner should be ready by the time you are."

It was not an easy day. Mr. Landau was early, and Jensen invited him in, steered him out to the back porch with a mug of coffee. "Just leave that there," he gestured at the overstuffed briefcase the man carried and pointed to a spot on the floor near the coffee table. "We'll get to it after breakfast."

Pancakes and scrambled eggs with sausages and syrup—and raspberry preserves for those who wanted them—were a hit. Landau lingered over a second cup of coffee, wiping syrup off his lips with his napkin. For a moment he looked content to linger, full and content, birdsong and the sound of water from the lake, a gentle breeze along the porch. But he couldn't overlook the tension with which Jared was avoiding his gaze, and with a deep, satisfied sigh, asked, "Shall we adjourn to the living room?"

Landau made his case, going through the entire list of companies, properties, and assets Padalecki Enterprises encompassed, diverting into deeper explanations whenever Jared asked for elaboration or clarification. The lawyer spread out prospectus after prospectus, and asked Jensen's permission to use the white-painted living room wall to project slides and short video from his laptop about one company or another. Jared paid close attention, fiercely focused on the man and the things he was showing them, telling them about.

But when Jensen noticed the kid glazing over, he spoke up.

"We should take a break. Mr. Landau, more coffee? There are cinnamon rolls I made last night."

"There's a lot more material to get through—" the lawyer began to protest.

"And we need a break," Jensen insisted, quiet but firm. He and Jared exchanged a glance, and Jared stood and walked out the back door.

Landau rose. "Wait—Jared!"

"Let him go," Jensen's voice was calm but implacable. "This is a lot. He needs a little time to process."

Landau nodded, reluctantly.

"Now, how about that coffee?" Jensen smiled, inviting him into the kitchen.

Jared was back in less than twenty minutes, stirring cream and sugar into his coffee mug and snagging a couple of cinnamon rolls and a handful of paper napkins.

"Mr. Landau," he set his mug and the food on the coffee table and made himself comfortable on the couch. "Thank you, for—" he spread his hands, indicating all the information the lawyer had provided. "All this. I know this isn't everything, and someone obviously is anxious that I be made aware of every holding, every account, every company, every part of the Padalecki empire."

Landau had the grace to look a little embarrassed as he nodded.

"But I'm never going to remember it all. And I assume you have files and folders and prospectuses on each and every one, am I right?" When the lawyer nodded, Jared said, "Then why don't you just leave it all with me? I'll look over it, study it in some depth, and if I have questions, I'll call you for clarification—will that fulfill your obligation, as far as explaining all this?"

Landau scrutinized the young man's expression. He believed Jared would actually read through the material, make notes, and no doubt organize the facts in his own fashion to help understand it all better. He took a breath and nodded.

"Yes, I believe so."

Jared nodded, "Good." He finished chewing his last bite, took a sip of coffee, and sat forward to fix the lawyer with a firm gaze for someone so young. "So why don't you tell me what you and the Board of Directors and...whoever... expects of me."

Jensen stayed out of the direct line of sight, leaning against the dining table, and let Jared handle the discussion. Landau was eager to get into the Board's and the Director's and the CEO's expectations of the Padalecki heir. He laid the whole plan out for Jared, with enticing promises and motivational encouragement, and a future that few people Jared's age—or ten, even twenty years older—would find hard to resist.

Jared should move to Boston immediately. He would be registered in one of the most academically rigorous and most prestigious private preparatory schools to finish his current and senior years. He would spend the summer making up any deficits in subjects his present school had neglected, or not pursued in depth or intensity. His class load would be more difficult, of course, but he would have help—tutors, if he needed them.

There would be a place at Harvard waiting for him on his high school graduation, with a business major, possibly also a business minor or pre-law, or some other excellent course of study to guide him in his control and management of the Padalecki empire.

The Padalecki home had been maintained with a skeleton staff since Mr. Padalecki's death. It would be fully staffed and ready for occupancy as soon as Jared was prepared to move in. He would have a cook, housekeeper, driver, and other servants as needed to run such a large household and see to his comfort.

Jared would have a generous personal account for his own expenses, clothing, entertainment, books, etc. And of course his school expenses would be covered by the estate.

Mr. Landau finished his list of items, expectations, and provisions with an accomplished smile, and found Jared staring at him with a marked lack of exuberant enthusiasm. It surprised him, frankly. Anybody would be impressed, and no doubt pleased, to find themself the recipient of such wealth and privilege. This kid looked anything but impressed.

"Well," Jared said, sitting back against the couch cushions. "The Board, the Directors—all those people in charge—they're going to have to learn to live with some changes in that plan."

Landau regarded him, eyes narrowing in speculation. "What do you mean?"

Jared and Jensen exchanged a glance, but Jensen stayed where he was, and Jared looked the lawyer in the eye. "First of all, I won't be moving into the Padalecki manse anytime soon."

"But—"

"Mr. Landau, I'm a kid. This is my home. This is my family." He sent a smile in Jensen's direction. "I like my school, and my friends. I want to graduate with my class."

"But—" Landau tried again. "You need to...take hold of your inheritance. Learn how to run things, make decisions."

"Oh, come on," Jared shook his head. "Who are we kidding, here? I'm a minor—I can't make any legally binding decisions. And nobody's going to listen to me until I've had some time—months, at least—to go over all this information and familiarize myself with procedures and processes and... What I'm saying is, I can study right here. I don't need to be in it—in fact I'll have a better perspective on all of it without being thrown in the deep end."

"Jared, you're the last Padalecki, the heir. Your place is in Boston, in training to take over the reins for ..."

"Yes, I know. But honestly, I'm not ready for that."

Landau couldn't help but reluctantly admire the kid's candor and his modest self-assessment. But he'd been sent here on a mission, and it was his job to make sure that mission went through.

"Let's do this," Jared suggested, speaking to Jensen before shifting his gaze to the lawyer. "We'll visit. We can tour some of the facilities, meet some people I'll need to get to know. Maybe tour the city and pick up a little local color."

"That's not—"

"Several visits, over time. I'll keep studying this material, make lists of questions and things I need more understanding and clarification on. And I can become more familiar with aspects of the business and with the city. Over time the visits will happen more often, and in the summer, maybe they'll be for a week, rather than just a weekend." He looked to Jensen to gauge his reaction to the plan. He got a nod and a half-smile in response.

"And then, by the time I'm starting college, I can plan on living in Boston full-time while I'm in school, with visits home."

"We all hope Boston will become your home, Jared."

"Yeah, well, living at college is nearly two years away. And this is the only way I can see for me to do this."

Jensen stepped forward, sat down on the other end of the couch. "This sounds like an extremely sensible plan," he said to Landau, his approval clear, before turning to Jared. "When did you think of all this?"

"Last night," the kid grinned, a little ruefully. "While I wasn't sleeping."

This wasn't achieving his goal, Landau mentally argued with himself. He was the adult here, the representative of the massive weight and importance of the Padalecki empire, and all the people who worked to keep it going. Why wasn't this kid—this orphan, who, according to what Landau had been told, had rolled up here like some bit of flotsam and landed by sheer luck with people who were willing to take him in, care for him, protect him, make him one of them. Why wasn't he jumping at the chance to claim his inheritance from a wealthy and powerful man? Landau took another look at the kid, slumped a little into the corner of the sofa, a few crumbs from the cinnamon rolls on his shirt, and sipping at his mug of coffee gone cold.

Jared felt his gaze and looked right back, waiting for the lawyer to decide his course of action. There was no guile in that gaze, no attempt to evade or deceive. Landau believed Jared's assessment of his own situation. And frankly, if Landau were seventeen, he might have felt the same way. He allowed a smile to soften his features, and shook his head ruefully.

"I can't argue with your logic," he told the boy.

He started to pack up some of the materials, and Jared sat up. "Can you leave that? I'd like to look through it, do some reading, dig a little deeper into what you've been telling me about the business and its subsidiaries, what they all do, and how they interlock—and where they're independent."

Landau schooled the astonishment off his face, smiled, and nodded. "I'm going to need a lot of it back—some of these aren't copies. We can get you copies to keep, but I need to return the originals to the files. But I can leave them with you—say, overnight?"

Jensen stirred from where he had stood at the table. "That sounds like a good idea," he agreed. "Why don't you give us the evening—give Jared some time alone to explore and investigate the material you brought. He can make that list of questions you were talking about." He glanced at Jared, who nodded.

"He needs to be getting back to school, as well," Jensen said, and Landau couldn't have said if it was eagerness, reluctance, or a mixture of the two that flitted across Jared's features. "He can check in, pick up his assignments, find out what he's missed." He turned to Jared. "If it's okay, you can leave a little early—skip your last class or two," and Jared nodded. Jensen turned again to the lawyer. "And if you want to show up around one we can have lunch, and then you two can have the afternoon for Jared's questions, and he can help you pack up what you need to take with you."

Jared nodded. "That'll work." And Landau had to agree it made sense. He nodded as well, and scooped his tablet, phone, and a few personal things into the briefcase, preparing to leave. "So, I'll see you tomorrow around one," he confirmed, and Jensen held out a hand for him to shake.

"Tomorrow," he said, and added with a grin, "Plan to stay for dinner."

The lawyer arrived a few minutes before one o'clock. He left his suit jacket in the car, and stepped up on the porch with his shirt collar unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up. Jensen gave him points for his attempt at informality. He suggested a walk, and they fell into step. Jensen was mildly surprised and impressed that Landau let him do most of the talking, rather than taking the opportunity to talk Jensen into supporting Landau's plans for Jared.

There was a point Jensen wanted to be sure to make. "I didn't understand at first why the Board of Directors and officers of subordinate companies and industries would be so glad for a Padalecki heir to emerge." The lawyer didn't react, merely waited for Jensen to continue as they started back toward the house. "But now I think I see. There's more than one direction different groups of directors and stockholders want the Padelecki empire to go in." He cast a side glance in the lawyer's direction, but Landau said nothing, waiting for Jensen to finish. "And each faction is hoping to get Jared on their side, be the deciding factor in who gets their way." There was a pause, and then Landau nodded.

"That's pretty much the lay of the land, right now."

"That's a hell of a situation to expect a teenager completely unfamiliar with the world of business, let alone the vagaries of this particular industry and all its parts and companies and subsidiaries to understand, much less to deal with, to make decisions about. Talk about unrealistic expectations."

Landau couldn't disagree. "That's why I've been so pushy about Jared jumping into this, getting up to speed as quickly as he can. There's a lot to learn, and more to figure out, once he has some idea of the complexity and magnitude of the responsibility—"

"He's not yet seventeen," Jensen reminded him. "And until this week, he was an orphan without a family background. In high school, dealing with courses and team rivalries and dating and mood swings and all those teenaged, high school things."

Landau swept a hand over his hair. "I know."

"So I think you need to go back to your Board and your officers and remind them of this. Jared's going to need time-- _years_ \--before he has a grasp on any of this. Before he can begin to make decisions on anyone's behalf."

The lawyer heaved an enormous sigh. "It's just not that easy—"

"Well, it's going to have to be. If he decides-- _if_ he decides to do this, he's going to have to do it at his own pace. He has other things in his life that need his attention and his devotion. He can't just...stop living his own life, to become what these Board officers expect of him."

"I _know_ ," Landau said again. "It's not going to be easy for them to wait—"

"Well, you'll have to convince them." Jensen was implacable. And the lawyer knew he was right. He nodded, and Jensen let the matter drop and started pointing out the features of the lake.

"You'd think there would be motorboats and Sea-doos all over this lake," Landau said. Jensen and he were walking around the edge, partway at least, since the whole circuit was about a three-hour walk.

"I don't allow motors on the lake," Jensen responded.

Landau missed a step and eyed him assessingly. _"You_ don't?"

Jensen met his look and nodded. "The municipal lake out the other side of town is bigger. The shore is more built up, most tourists stay in motels and cabins over there. So it makes sense—water skiing, the Sea-doos you mentioned, the pontoon party boats that putt-putt along the shore till they drop anchor for the folks to dive and swim off the boat and picnic on board.

"This shore is partly protected forest and wildlife preserve," Jensen went on. “The rest is privately owned. There are some farms, some residences that border the lake in places, but there are runoff regs: no pesticides, no herbicides, so the golf turf lawns are not a thing around the lake."

"Is this a reservoir? Civic drinking water?"

Jensen nodded. "We like it unpolluted, though."

"How do you get all the owners to agree to the no-motors, no-pollutants rules?"

Jensen gave a wry smile, and Landau noted for the first time the well-worn crinkles of humor lines at the corners of the very attractive green eyes. "Well, unless I want to get into an argument with myself, there're no disagreements."

"You—" The lawyer's eyebrows went up. "You own the lake? And all the land around it? How far back? And how've you resisted developing all this?"

Jensen heaved a little sigh. Dealing with outsiders was more complicated than he liked. "Development wouldn't be in the land's best interests, nor in the people's who live here. We're old-fashioned, stuck in our ways, all those negative adjectives developers and investors accuse us of. The reality is, we like living here, and we don't want things to change into someplace we don't like."

"But think of the money—"

"We have what we need, Mr. Landau. We live well. We're happy as we are."

Landau stopped walking and took a long, slow look along the opposite shore before turning back to Jensen. "Forgive me. It's the corporate lawyer." He sighed, and offered a rueful smile.

Jensen nodded. "We should start back. Jared should be home soon."

Jared was already there when they got back to the house, building a giant sandwich for himself. "You guys want one?"

Both men declined, and Jensen took himself off to tend to a few chores outside and left Landau to talk to Jared. Jensen gave them an hour before he wandered back in, puttering in the kitchen while he eavesdropped on their conversation about school and tutors and taking one thing at a time while he learned about Padaleki Corp. Jensen put a couple of cans of soda, a bowl of chips, and a smaller bowl of bean dip on a tray, carried it over and set it down on the coffee table in reach of both of them.

"Dinner in an hour," he said, looking at the lawyer. "You're welcome to stay."

"Steaks?" Jared wanted to know.

Jensen nodded, and Landau didn't take much convincing to stay.

Dinner was good, the conversation was fine. Jared brought up the subject of going to Boston weekend after next. He and the lawyer had discussed it, and did Jensen think it was it okay, would he come with Jared? They could see the house, tour some of the corporate offices, and maybe meet some people who worked for Padalecki Corp. Maybe even tour the city a little bit. Jensen thought it sounded like a good idea, and Landau said he'd be in touch to arrange things. After dinner, the lawyer stood and thanked them both for their hospitality. He was leaving town in the morning. He pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to Jared. "Any questions, anything at all, anytime, you can reach me there."

He shook Jared's hand, and Jensen's, said he would see them soon. After the sound of his car faded away, Jared stood, gazing at the card in his hand before turning to Jensen. "Wow, huh?"

Jensen started clearing the table. "Wow," he agreed. "I know it's a lot," he told Jared. "But I know you're glad to get some information on your family. And all this stuff about the business, you can take it one thing at a time."

"There's a lot."

"I know. But they've been running without you all this time. They can wait for you to catch up."

Jared nodded and put the card in his back pocket. He picked up some of the dishes to help clear. "I hope Landau can steer me a little when it comes to where to start," he said, self-doubt evident in his voice.

"Hey."

Jared looked up and met Jensen's eyes. "You do this at your own pace. And if you decide it's not what you want, you're not obligated to do any of it. You call the shots here."

Jared blinked, absorbing Jensen's words. "I'll try and remember that."

Jensen set down the things he was carrying and stood next to Jared, a hand on his shoulder. "This town? This is your home. Everybody here considers you pack, one of us. You need us, for anything? We're here—everybody."

Jared nodded, sudden tears shining.

"And me? We may not be blood, but we're family. No matter what."

A quick nod, and Jared stepped quickly to the sink to deposit what he carried before turning back to Jensen. "Thanks, man. I—just, thanks."

Jensen grinned back at him. "You wash, I'll dry." ****

: : :


	4. Chapter 4

: : :

Boston was overwhelming. Jared had never seen so many people in one place, and it had been a long time since Jensen had seen such crowds. A car and driver met them at baggage claim, Jared's name printed large on a white card, just like in the movies. He ducked his head to try and hide his delighted grin, and stroked a hand down his neck. Jensen asked the driver if Jared could have the card as a keepsake. The driver-- "Call me Don" --grinned and handed it over.

Don kept up a low-key patter, pointing out landmarks, answering questions as they drove. The car, a shining black SUV behemoth, pulled up at the curb, and Don got out to open the door for them, and then the iron lace gate. As they crossed the paved space between the sidewalk and the steps, Don helped Jensen gather their luggage. He set it on the stoop and rang the bell, and waited till the door opened. "Mitch," Don greeted the man who stood there. "This is Mr. Jared and Mr. Jensen." He turned to Jared. "If you need to go out, have Mitch program my numbers into your phones. I'm sure I'll see you again before the weekend is over." With a smile, he shook their hands and went down the steps to move the car, leaving them in Mitch's care.

"Gentlemen, please come in," he invited, grabbing one of the bags and setting it down in the foyer."I'm Mitch Pileggi. I serve as liason between Corporate office and the house."

Jared wasn't sure what he had expected, but walking into his grandfather's house was like walking onto a movie set. Something about the same vintage as Cameron's Titanic. There didn't seem to be a straight line, a bare wall, or an unadorned surface anywhere.

"I'll show you to your rooms in a moment, I'm sure you want to freshen up. But first, let me give you a quick tour of the ground floor."

He whisked them through the reception room, into a parlor beyond, and on into the dining room. There was the kitchen, a vast, gleaming space full of shiny white cabinets and stainless steel. A smiling woman nodded at them when Mitch introduced her as Ms. Dinwiddie. "It's Traci, thanks. I'll have some lunch ready in about half an hour, okay? I'll see you then."

They thanked her, and Mitch escorted them onto the back porch, a broad, screened outdoor room with comfortable furniture that overlooked a very well-cared-for garden. From there they went through the library, with a separate small but exquisitely furnished study, and beyond that a billiard room. That led back into the reception room, to the foyer, and a magnificent staircase. Mitch grabbed a couple of their bags, and they took the rest. "Follow me upstairs and I'll show you to your rooms."

Jensen dropped his things in his large bedroom, furnished beautifully in blues and greens, and followed Mitch and Jared into the even larger bedroom furnished in reds and browns.

Mitch pointed out the intercom, and the buttons to call the kitchen, and to summon Mitch. "I think that's everything, at least to start. Relax a little bit, and you can head down to the dining room for lunch. You'll probably want to do a little sightseeing after lunch, so we can discuss that after you've eaten. I'll see you then." He smiled and exited, closing the door behind him.

Jared's mouth was open a little, his jaw dropped just a bit. Jensen thought his might have been, too, at one point or another.

"Wow," Jared said, his gaze tracking around the high-ceilinged room.

"Uh huh," Jensen answered. It was all he could manage at the moment.

Jensen went back to his own room, and they both unpacked. A sparse weekend's worth of stuff in deep bureau drawers with polished, bookmatched burl veneer, and a closet that could store a whole marching band's worth of uniforms. A single spare pair of shoes on the closet floor. When Jared came to see if Jensen was ready to go down for lunch, he found him standing in the open doorway, gazing into the bathroom.

It was huge. Floor, walls, and shower in lightly-veined white marble tile. A glass-walled shower with six heads that Jared could count from the door—there might be more—and the enclosure was big enough for two grown adults to run around in. Double vanities. A tub deep enough and long enough that Jared could get his legs and his shoulders under water all at the same time. "The towel bars are heated," he breathed. Jensen just nodded, before he tore himself away, swatting Jared lightly across the stomach and made for the door.

"Do you remember the way to the dining room?" Jared asked.

"We go down," Jensen said. "We'll explore once we get downstairs."

They found the dining room, with two places laid in fine china, crystal stemmed glasses, and silver flatware. Jensen threw a glance at the table as he headed toward the kitchen door.

"Hi, Traci?" Jensen pushed through the swinging door and spotted the woman lifting a baking sheet out of the oven.

"Yes, sir?"

"Can we eat in here, if we won't be in your way?"

Jared grinned and nodded. A much better idea than eating in the dining room.

"Well—okay?" Tracie said, looking unsure. "Are you sure? Is there something wrong with the dining room?"

She set down the hot cookie sheet on the range burners, shed her oven mitts like hockey gloves, and looked ready to go fix whatever was wanting.

"The dining room's fine," Jared assured her. "It's just...dark. And the kitchen is so nice and bright."

Jensen looked around at all the windows and the sunshine pouring in and nodded.

"And the dining room is big and empty, and well, the kitchen's just nicer. "Besides," he grinned at her and the dimples popped. "It smells like cookies in here."

"Well, there's a reason for that, Junior," she grinned, and waved them toward the stools lined up along the island. “Have a seat, and help yourselves."

She opened the fridge and brought out a platter of sandwich ingredients, produced a breadboard with a loaf of dark, whole grain bread, half of it already sliced, and set them in front of Jared and Jensen. A tray of pickles, olives, and other relishes, pots of various mustards, salad dressing, and mayo, softened butter, and several spreaders. Traci pulled a couple of oversized pottery plates from a cupboard, setting one down before each of them, and put a bowl of potato salad and a bowl of cut raw vegetables on the counter within reach. Big, thick glass tumblers with bubbles in the glass and a pitcher of iced tea joined the food.

"Anything you'd like that you don't see?" Traci wanted to know.

Jared and Jensen both shook their heads, each loading their plate from the offerings in front of them. "This is awesome," Jared smiled his thanks. "Say, have you eaten? You want to join us?"

"Thank you, Junior," she smiled. "I have already eaten. But it's against protocol for the help to eat with the guests, you know. Just for future reference."

"Not when I'm here," Jared said. And he meant it.

Traci stayed to talk with them, and answer some questions about the house.

"Well, they had to take out the bowling alley in the basement to install the lap pool."

"There's a pool in the basement?" Jared asked, amazed. "What else haven't we seen?"

"What about the attic?" Jensen asked with a grin. "What's up there?"

"Servants’ quarters, when the house was built. Emergency guest rooms at one point, but overflow guests usually stay at hotels these days," was her answer. "Now the attics are mostly storage."

"How large is the garden?" Jared asked. "This is a city lot—how big can it be?"

"The lot is somewhat less than half an acre," Traci said. "There are the garages, and the greenhouse. They used to grow flowers for all the rooms, but it hasn't been used in years. The house itself takes up most of the space." She grabbed the pitcher and refilled Jared's glass. "But it's four stories, so it goes up, rather than spreading out over the acreage. Still, there's a lot of room, for a city dwelling."

Jensen nodded, and Jared agreed with her. "I'll say."

She offered cake for dessert, and they both refused. "You should have said there was cake before I had that second sandwich," Jared complained.

"Don't make another dessert for dinner, all right?" Jensen asked. "We'll eat cake!"

Jared nodded enthusiastically. "What time is dinner? We want to do a little exploring in the area."

"Let me call Don. He can drive you."

"No, that's okay," Jared said. "We just wanted to walk around a little, see the neighborhood. Don't bother him."

"Man, yes, I'm calling him. He's bored out of his skull; there's only so many hours a day he can detail those cars. Let the man earn his paycheck, okay?"

She saw to it they both programmed Don's numbers into their phones, along with the numbers for the house: Kitchen and office. There were more, but they persuaded her they could get by with these few.

Don walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, shirt, tie, suit, and shined shoes.

"Hey, we're not dressing up," Jensen said, gesturing to their own jeans and canvas shirts over t-shirts. "Why don't you tone it down a bit, too."

The driver nodded. "I can change. I wanted to find out which car you'd like to take?"

Jared's eyes lit up. "There are choices?"

They followed Don down to the garages, and he turned them loose inside while he ran up to his rooms to change.

Jensen and Jared just stood for a minute, looking over the ranks of motor vehicles before they began to stroll the aisles. There were some very nice vintage cars, some nondescript late-model, upscale sedans, a van, and a couple of SUVs. There was the gleaming black monster Don had driven earlier, a sedan, a station wagon, and a more compact SUV from the current model year. All told, there were at least a dozen vehicles here, and not a speck of dust visible on any of them.

"Made your choice?" Don came down the stairs from the driver's quarters. In chinos, a polo shirt, tailored denim jacket, and leather boat shoes, he looked less like a Fed.

Jensen stood back and let Jared choose. "We were just going to do some sightseeing close to the house."

"We could walk. Get to know the area." Jensen added.

Don nodded. "You could. But this area is all residential, for blocks around. Great if you're a student of east coast urban American architecture. There's lots of different building styles from many different periods," he smiled. "But you're not really going to find much else. Why don't I drive you closer into the heart of the city? I can drop you off, pick you up in a couple of hours. Or you could call when you're ready to come back, and I can pick you up."

Jensen turned to Jared, waiting for him to choose. Jared surprised them both. "Come with," he said. "You live here, you can show us more than touristy Boston. I'll bet you even know where the parking places are." Jared grinned a challenge at the driver. "Drive us into town, park, and take us on a walking tour for an hour or two." He checked with Jensen, who was delighted with the prospect.

"Sounds good to me."

"I—" Don hesitated for a second before he grinned. "Okay, sure. I can do that. Are you guys ready to go?"

That was the first walking tour of many Don would guide them on over the next months. And with the driver's knowledge of the city, they learned a lot about Boston; it began to feel less strange and intimidating to Jared.

They pulled into the driveway that was all but hidden from the street, and Don let them off near the kitchen entrance.

"Have supper with us," Jared offered impulsively, glancing at Jensen after the fact.

Jensen had no objection, but Don hesitated. "I, uh, have a previous appointment. I could call and cancel--"

"No, Don, that's fine," Jensen was quick to reassure him."We'll do this another time. Thank you for the tour today. I learned a lot about the city, and I really enjoyed it."

"Yes, Don, another time. I enjoyed the day too. We need to do it again!"

"Do you have plans for more sightseeing tomorrow? I'm available, just say the word." They promised they'd let him know, and the driver was smiling as he pulled away.

Traci was pulling a pan of rolls out of one of the ovens when they entered the kitchen door. "Hi, boys. Have a good time?"

"Yes, we did," Jared answered, and started relating some of the places they'd been.

"You have a guest for supper," she cut across Jared's chatter. "He's waiting in the study."

Jensen's eyebrows rose in query. "Who?"

"Peter Landau. The lawyer?"

"Yes, we've met. You know why he's here?"

Traci shook her head and set the baking sheet on a cooling rack laid ready. "Dinner's in about half an hour. I can delay ten minutes if you boys want to clean up and change."

"We should speak to Landau first," Jensen said. "Find out what's up."

Traci nodded, and Jared drifted nearer the range, attempting to guess from the scents rising from the simmering pans. "What's for dinner?"

She tapped his wrist lightly with a long-handled wooden spoon. "Roast, potatoes, green veg, and a salad to start. Nose out of my business," she scolded with a smile. "Go take care of your own."

Landau was with Mitch in the study. "So glad to see you again." He shook hands with each of them.

"How was your tour?" Mitch asked.

"It was fun," Jared answered. "Don's a good guide."

"The driver? Yes, he should be," Landau allowed. "He's lived here all his life."

Jensen was curious. "To what do we owe the honor of the visit?"

Landau smiled. "I just wanted to touch base, welcome you to Boston, make sure you got settled into the house and got out to see a little bit of the city."

"Traci said you're staying for dinner?" Jared asked, and Landau nodded.

"If that's okay?"

"Sure," Jared answered, and turned to Mitch. "Are you joining us, too?"

Mitch looked a little surprised, but shook his head. "No, the missus will be waiting for me. If you'll excuse me, I'll be leaving now." He glanced at Jensen and Jared. "I'll see you in the morning. If there's any problem overnight, my number should be in your phones."

Jensen smiled in assurance. "I doubt there'll be anything that can't wait till you're back on duty, but if there is, we'll call."

Mitch nodded and aimed his "Good night, then" at all of them as he left.

"We need to go clean up a little bit after all that walking." Jared turned to Landau."We'll see you in the dining room in a few minutes?"

"Of course."

Dinner was excellent. Beef roasted perfectly, with potatoes, onions, and carrots, au jus on the side. There were tender green beans and a simple salad of greens and tomatoes, with a homemade dressing, and the rolls Traci had baked, tender and perfect.

"So, what are your plans for tomorrow?" the lawyer asked.

"Our plane leaves in the afternoon, so we thought we'd sightsee a bit more till lunchtime, then leave for the airport," Jensen answered. "Why?"

"I'd like to ask if you'll be coming back next weekend, or the weekend after?" Landau broached the subject over apple cake and coffee.

"Weekend after," Jensen left Jared to answer.

"Ah, good. I wonder if I might arrange some time while you're here to meet a few people from the corporation? Maybe four or five of the executives? When would be a good time for you?"

Jared drew a blank, and Jensen stepped up. "We don't know what our plans are for the next trip, but why don't we invite these people to a late brunch on Sunday? " he looked to Jared for confirmation. "That will give us the morning to sightsee a bit, and still make the plane in time. It's just introductions, right? No diving into deep discussions at this point?"

Landau took a breath, and his lips snapped shut on his first response. There might have been some discussions planned. But he nodded. "As you say, just introductions. And Ms. Dinwiddie's excellent cuisine certainly promotes a cheerful state of mind."

Jared spoke up, his expression a bit anxious. "Wait, Mr. Landau. What—what do I need to know before I meet these people? I mean, what are they going to expect of me?"

Jensen laid a hand on Jared's forearm where it rested on the tablecloth. "Jared. They just want to meet you." He glanced at Landau. "Right? No hoops to jump through? No tests, no trick questions?"

Landau smiled. "Yes, he's absolutely right, Jared. No hoops, no trick questions. They just want to meet you, introduce themselves. You'll do fine, just be yourself."

Sunday dawned sunny and gorgeous. The garden was awash with flowering trees and low shrubs and rows of tulips and iris, and Jared and Jensen decided not to venture out, after all. Mitch stopped in as they were having pancakes and sausage in the kitchen, and he gave them free run of both house and garden.

So they went exploring. First, the basement. The lap pool shimmered still and blue under the lights, the air slightly warm and damp; the pool, when Jared bent to test the water, was comfortably warm. "Nice." Jensen nodded agreement.

"'Course the bowling alley would have been fun, too," he grinned.

At the far end of the basement behind a door they found a workout room. The air was dryer there, and cooler. There were windows along the ceiling that flooded the space with light. There were rolled mats, racks of free weights, a stationary bike with several bells and whistles, and a treadmill with a bell and whistle or two of its own.

"All you'd ever need, if you didn't have time to run outside," Jared mused. "Why does it feel to me like one of those plastic hamster mazes?"

"Missing the woods, Jared?"

The kid nodded. "Yeah."

"We'll be back tonight. Want to run when we get home?"

Jared nodded again. "Yes. Please. It feels like weeks." He rolled his shoulders and reached for a chin-up bar, pulling up a half-dozen times. "Let's get out of here," he said.

They climbed the hidden stairs that led up from the kitchen, emerging onto the second floor not far from their bedrooms. They went from room to room, checking out which had the best view from the windows, which bathrooms were most impressive, which furnishings and decor they liked, and which they didn't. Nine bedrooms in all, three ensuite, and six sharing a bathroom between pairs. There wasn't any dust on any surfaces. The bathroom fixtures gleamed, and the towels all smelled fresh. Surely all this wasn't Traci's responsibility, in addition to cooking every meal.

"There's got to be more staff to maintain this place," Jared said. Jensen nodded. He knew how Jared thought, but he'd let the kid come to his own conclusions, wait until Jared asked for his opinion.

"Come on." He headed back toward the servants' stairs. "One more floor."

The walls that had divided the space into small bedrooms had been taken down, leaving a long, bare open space across the width of the fourth floor, from the front rank of dormer windows overlooking the street to those overlooking the garden in the back. The furniture had been removed, the wooden floors were bare wood, had never been polished. The walls between the windows were plain, white-painted plaster. Oddly, this space felt more welcoming than the lavish bedrooms downstairs. Dust motes danced in the afternoon light streaming through the windows. Jensen counted the marks on the floor where the walls had been. "Twelve small servant bedrooms," he observed. "The housemaids and cook's helpers," he was guessing. "The undergardeners and footmen must have had quarters elsewhere. Maybe over the garage."

Jared shook his head. "So many people to keep this mausoleum running." He shuddered, and looked Jensen in the eye before indicating the length and breadth of the attic. "Such wonderful space. We have to find a really good purpose for the house."

"Or several," Jensen suggested.

They descended and went out the kitchen door to explore the garden. The greenhouse was small, a charming confection of iron scrollwork and glass. The benches were bare, and the shelves at the far end had stacked rows of empty pots stored upside down. Tools were hung in a row on the end wall. Everything had a held-breath feeling, as if waiting to have someone bring in plants to pot up, fresh dirt and blooming color. There was a small leak in one corner. Jared made a note to mention it. No point in having the building deteriorate, even if it wasn't in use at the moment.

There was an obviously tended and cultivated kitchen garden, and an herb garden. Flower beds were spaced attractively, and someone had been caring for the plants. The garden ended with a high wall of rosy brick, and the rose beds were aligned along the wall, again obviously cared for.

"A. Who has been tending all this?" Jared wanted to know. "And, B, why? Is someone harvesting vegetables and flowers from this garden? I can see Traci preparing meals for a skeleton staff, but not using up the produce this place is still providing. And who's dusting the rooms, fluffing the beds, washing the towels? And, why, if nobody's been living here since my grandfather died?"

"All good questions," Jensen told him. "Ones you need to start planning to ask your visitors next time we come."

They had sandwiches and leftover cake in the kitchen with Traci, and mentioned that next visit they'd like to eat out on the screened porch. Jared refrained from asking her questions about the garden and the house. Better to take that up with Mitch, next time, or some of the board who oversaw expenditures to keep the house running.

They said goodbye to Traci and to Don when he dropped them at the airport. They didn't talk much on the plane, but were glad to feel familiar ground under their feet when they disembarked. The drive home to the lake was far too long, and they dropped their bags inside the door and stripped as they walked through the house, shifting as they reached the back porch. Home. Deep breaths, and then they were running. Hearts pounding, muscles working, smells and sounds and sights filling their senses. When they tired, they lay down in a stand of grass, shoving against each other to get comfortable. They fell asleep as the moon rose, and woke to birdsong and mist from the lake as the sun breached the horizon.

Naked, Jared blinked and brushed his hair out of his face. He climbed to his feet and streaked toward the lake, whooping as he landed in the water with a mighty splash. "Brrrr!" he yelled. "Come on in, Jensen!"

"Cold," Jensen complained. Jared stalked out, streaming lake water, till he stood above Jensen and shook the water out of his hair onto Jensen's naked form.

"Hey!"

Jared's grin was unrepentant. "We're home, Jensen!"

: : :


	5. Chapter 5

: : :

On their second visit to Boston, Jensen had Don drop them in a shopping district, with cafes and restaurants among the boutiques and bookstores. "I'll call you," Jensen told Don, and the man nodded and drove away.

Jared looked around and asked, "Now what?"

"Come this way," Jensen directed, and Jared fell into step beside him. A few blocks from where they'd been dropped off, they found a pretty little park. Jensen walked in among the trees, and found a bench. "Come on, sit down. There's someone you need to meet."

"You're being awfully cloak and dagger about this—"Jared started. And a man's voice behind him spoke.

"Jensen Ackles?"

The speaker had an impressive mane of iron-grey hair, with beard and eyebrows to match. "I'm Timothy Omundson," he introduced himself. "Alpha of the Boston Pack."

He shook hands with them both, and they strolled while Omundson told them about Boston Pack, and how it was run. "Morgan is The Alpha for the whole pack. We're so large, we've separated somewhat into three more manageable packs. I'm alpha for one, Vincent Parise is alpha for another pack, and Sebastian Roche is alpha for the third. Harvard and the area around it falls into the territory of my pack."

"Do the, um, sub-packs have names?" Jared wanted to know.

"They probably should," Omundson said with a smile peeking through the beard. His piercing blue eyes, crinkled at the corners, gave the smile away. "But no, just Boston Pack—or Omundson of Boston Pack will do."

"We appreciate you meeting with us," Jensen said.

"Glad to do it." Omundson turned to Jared. "I just wanted to reassure you that should you need our assistance, we're at your service. If you can't get to your home ground and need to run, our space is at your disposal, and there are always weres available, who'd be happy to take a break to run, if you'd rather not run alone."

"That's really good to know," Jared said. And a little bit of anxiety did loosen. If he was in Boston without Jensen, it would be good to have someplace to run, and someone to run with.

Omundson pulled a business card from a pocket and offered it to Jared. "You can usually reach me here. If not me, then someone's always monitoring that phone."

Jared nodded.

"Of course, you could always call the old-fashioned way—but you know, city noise."

Jared spotted the wry grin and matched it. "Besides, don't want to risk frightening the neighbors."

The three of them shared a chuckle and another round of handshakes, and Omundson took his leave. Jensen called Don, and they were on their way home for supper in ten minutes.

Bell Creek had traditional runs at specific times of year. The whole pack ran together, except for the youngest pups and the adults who volunteered to stay with them while their parents got a chance to be free, from evening till the following morning.

There were also frequent unscheduled runs, for groups of friends who wanted to spend some time together, runs for men, or for women. Impromptu telephone trees alerted participants, and the gatherings were informal.

The high school crowd had frequent overnight runs. Most often they were extensions of a party or a gathering, often at the lake. The kids decided they were through swimming, shifted, and took off through the woods. As fall and winter set in it got too cold to swim, but the kids came to the lake anyway, to eat, tease, flirt with each other, joke and dance around the bonfire before they shifted and ran. The days got shorter and colder as summer gave way to fall, but wolf senses work fine in the dark.

Through the summer Jensen noticed a girl or two hanging around Jared, flirting, making sure to be beside him when they shifted to run. Jared might bring a girl home to watch movies or play a game, popcorn and soda on offer. But it never seemed to be the same girl, and sometimes it was a boy. There didn't seem to be any more or less affection for either over the other. Most usually there was a cloud of youngsters around Jared, and he didn't seem interested in one person any more than the others.

Jensen thought that was probably best. So young, all of them, far too soon to pair off and choose one mate for their whole life ahead.

There were trips to Boston through the summer. Jensen went along as a matter of course because Jared wanted him there. Jared did host that first brunch meeting with five of the board members. It was awkward, despite Jared's innate charm, and the adults were at least attempting to be welcoming. But everyone was glad when the last round of coffee was refused and the guests began to leave.

With school out for summer Jared spent four or five days in Boston. They took a day for "sightseeing" and joined Omundson's Boston pack to get to know some of the pack members, and explore a bit of their pack grounds. They got a chance to run with several pack members. It was fine. Strange for Jared because he'd only run with the Bell Creek pack until then, and in truth he still didn't know all the territory around the lake. This woodland smelled different. Scents and odors from the city mingled with the smell of forest floor loam, pine pitch, and the delicate scents of understory plants. It wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't home, either.

The pack seemed welcoming enough, curious but hesitant to outright ask questions. Jared hoped as he spent more time with them things would feel more familiar and easy.

The reserve of Boston pack was much less, though, than Jared's reception in one of the smaller conference rooms at Padalecki Enterprises Head Offices. Two of the faces around the walnut conference table he recognized from brunch at the house a few weeks ago. But the rank of directors, sub-directors, and assistant to the directors arrayed around that table was intimidating.

Jensen brushed against Jared's shoulder as they took their seats at the table, and Jared caught a whiff of Jensen's scent: calm, serene, strong, aware. He breathed deep and let it influence his own state as he flashed a grateful look at Jensen.

Wading into the meeting was, again, intimidating, and Jared and Jensen both recognized it was meant to be so. Get the kid under control from the start, and he would be less likely to challenge anybody, or the procedures that had benefitted the corporation so far, and the members gathered here.

Jared listened attentively, nodding as he was introduced to the next speaker. He had been quiet, listening, so far, but as one man spoke, Jared lifted a finger and asked for clarification on a point. A subtle, mostly obscure point. His request for clarification was astute. Jensen watched as awareness and the beginnings of a new assessment of the heir to the Padalecki empire rippled around the table as Jared revealed that he was no mere child in a world of cutthroat adults, but someone who understood the basics of the world he now found himself part of. Someone eager to increase his knowledge.

From that point the tone shifted: the tone with which the board members addressed Jared, the tone in the room that moved away from basics and into known and accepted terms and concepts. Jensen watched as it happened, and concealed his broad smile of pride in his protege. No, in this Jensen was not his mentor. This was all Jared, his intelligence, his powers of observation and analysis, his ability to grasp nuances and situations and how they fit together, or how they could be deployed for maximum effect. Coupled with the research and study Jared had invested in the past few weeks, his familiarity with the corporation and its operation surprised everybody. Jensen had always known Jared was exceptionally smart. Now he got to watch as Jared put his talents to work.

Factual knowledge, figures and statistics, all those were primitive, but could be, would be learned. But right now, at this table, Jared's grasp of how it all worked surprised everybody.

When the meeting adjourned, Jared shook the hand of every person present, addressing them by name and meeting their eyes. Landau was the last person to leave, and even his imperturbable expression had a distinct uptilt to the mouth and eye corners. Once Landau had left the room, Jared's whole body deflated. Jensen was close enough to support him, but Jared blew out a heavy breath and straightened his spine.

"Food?" Jensen asked. "Or a run with the pack?"

"Food," Jared demanded. "I can't handle more people right now."

"Okay, tiger, come on." Jensen steered him toward the exit and pressed Don's number on his phone. "Coming out the east entrance."

"There in two," was the reply. And Jensen stayed close, Jared feeling shepherded, protected, by the near-contact.

Jensen made the trip every time Jared visited Boston, and although Jared was acclimating to his role in the corporation and getting to know more of the staff of each company, he was definitely glad to have Jensen reassuringly near. He trusted Jensen's observations of reactions and behaviors Jared might have missed, and their discussions gave Jared more insight into how he and his ideas were being received, who had misgivings, who had little respect or dismissed Jared as "a child" or immature. He did depend on Jensen, beyond his reassuring company.

But one weekend there was an unavoidable conflict, so Jensen had to beg off. Jared was a little nervous, but he put a brave face on it. Flying solo was a new experience, and while he was a little anxious, on the whole it was fine, and even exhilarating in a few spots. After that, Jensen didn't feel obligated to accompany Jared on every trip to Boston.

Fall was more than a chill twist to the air. School had started, and plans were on schedule for the Fall Run. Jared was slated for his alpha run, and Jensen stepped aside and let Jim, Misha, Kim, and Irv guide the preparation. Results of the alpha run were indicative of how a were would ultimately settle in status. Most often the determination held into adulthood. But there were always weres who grew into a greater status due to circumstance or simple maturity. Rarely did a status fall as the were matured.

There was a group of seven, six senior classmates of Jared's, one, Jesse, an unusually mature junior.

A couple of the young weres struggled at elements of the alpha run trials, but almost all of them passed, alpha status, even Jesse. There was one failure: Trey Rogers. Aggressive and fearless, he lacked self-control, and the empathy and concern for others required of an alpha leader. The hope held by the trial council was that Trey would continue to mature in outlook and understanding, and return to a trial in the future.

Jared's assessment changed nobody's opinion of him—he was definitely alpha material, but he still had a lot of beta tendencies, too. Jared himself didn't seem upset about it.

Jensen did go to Boston one weekend to run with the Boston pack and meet the new friends Jared had made among the pack. "This is Chad," Jared introduced a weedy-looking blond, who shook Jensen's hand. "I'm really glad you brought this guy to town, Mr. A," Chad grinned. "I like him."

Jared rolled his eyes. "And this is Justin," he introduced the other young man, who stuck out a hand and gave Jensen a long-suffering smile. "Hi." As the evening wore on, Jensen could see the same sort of relationship between the three that Jared had with his friends in Bell Creek. And he was happy for Jared's sake that he had local friends to spend downtime with.

Jared was starting to express his opinions in regard to Padalecki Corp. There were practices he didn't agree with, and he began to attract a group of people around him who were willing to work to change things, an increment at a time. There would always be resistance from the old guard, but results didn't lie, and Jared's way slowly started to prove as profitable as the old way. The changes began to affect the public 's opinion of some of the companies in question, which positively affected the corporate bottom line, so more changes were implemented. There were goals Jared wanted the corporation to meet, and he and his loyal subordinates were dogged, charming, and persistent. Insiders observed the changes, and speculated about further success in the future.

Jared spoke with a small group of key members of the board.

"I know I have a lot to learn, to observe and absorb. But this is my senior year of high school, and I want to enjoy being with my friends and doing all those high school things." The faces around the table wore expressions of resistance to one degree or another.

"Soon enough I'll be on site full time, and high school will be a thing of the past. I want to be able to look back on the stupid and exciting things my friends and I did senior year. Those memories will provide a little humor and color when I'm deep in the fourth hour of one committee meeting or other." He eyed each one of the men present with a mixture of wry humor and challenge. As a group, they all backed off their focused intent to have Jared on board every moment he wasn't actually in school. A couple of them smiled reminiscently, and each of them relaxed.

"Thanks for understanding." Jared grinned in gratitude. "And I'll keep in touch by internet—you all have my numbers. Text or message me whenever and I'll get back to you when I can. If it's just updating, maybe you can organize and appoint somebody to summarize and send me a weekly update." Noting the uncomfortable shifts in body language, he added. "Or twice weekly. Rather than individual messages from each of you. Whatever works.

"And I'm going to try to get into town every other weekend or so. We can do info summaries and resolve a lot of things by message," he encouraged. "And then maybe some fun stuff while I'm in town, yeah?"

In the end, he charmed them into doing as he asked, and without lingering resentment at not getting their expectations met.

First day of school, and everybody wanted to know all about Jared's trips to Boston. He and Jensen hadn't shared Jared's identity, or news of his inheritance. What he told the pack, and his friends, was that he had found out some history on his birth family, and had spent some time in Boston following up that information.

It wasn't that Jared wanted to hide his inheritance, but he and Jensen both acknowledged Jared would be perceived differently because of it. Might possibly, okay almost certainly would be a target for anyone with an idea to hit Jared up for financing. Jared desperately didn't want that, and Jensen didn't want it for him. So the Padalecki fortune was not a topic of conversation in Bell Creek.

His friends were happy for him that he had found some information about his family, and were sympathetic hearing Jared had no living family left.

"It's all right, though," he told them. "I have Jensen." He glanced around at the group gathered in the school courtyard and grinned. "And I have you guys. Bell Creek Pack is my family, and that's just fine with me."

There were cookouts and swimming at the lake until the water got too chilly. But then the cookouts and runs afterward continued. Jared had never felt the desire to be a football hero, but he and his friends went to games and cheered on the Bell Creek team.

He volunteered to fetch and carry, to run errands, to put up bunting and banners and to mark trails for the Fall run, working with Sheriff Beaver, his deputy D.J, and a couple of others to get the run trails marked. He helped Vicki and Misha schlep refreshments out to the tables on Run Day, so people could buy bottles of beer, soda, and water, as well as pretzels and paper boats of french fries, mac&cheese, and eggs and sausage. He helped Brianna set up the First Aid tent, and happily ran any errands anybody needed.

"Jared, slow down. You've never been this involved before. What's gotten into you?"

Jared gave him a brief somber look before breaking into a smile. "It's home, Jensen. You all took me in, and the whole town is family." He didn't scuff his toe in the dirt, but his body language suggested it. "This may be the last year I have the chance to be part of all this."

Jensen nodded understanding. "Yeah." He slung an arm around the kid's neck, a little surprised to have to reach up to do it. "But you don't have to run yourself ragged. Slow down. Enjoy it. It's supposed to be fun."

And it was. Jensen lost sight of Jared early in the run. He seemed to be running with a youngster about his own age, both of them tail high, tongues lolling, and white grins flashing as they ran.

Jensen pushed himself. He'd not been running as often as he was used to, and the joints were a little stiff, his breath a little bit shallower than usual. He needed to get back out here, especially when Jared was in Boston. Jensen reached a favorite spot—a shelf of rock wide enough to stretch out on, several feet above the surface of the lake, trees parted enough for him to bask in the light of the full moon. More fatigued than he'd expected to be, he slept until the sun was high, next morning. He stretched and set an easy lope toward home.

Thanksgiving was wonderful. Jensen and Jared invited weres who were, for one reason or another, without family to come and share the day with them. Jim and DJ showed up, and Kim. It was her first Thanksgiving without her husband and son, who had died in an accident last winter. Misha and Vicki came, bringing bread pudding and green beans and a basket of corn muffins. Turkey was not a usually favored dish in the pack, but they had turkey roasted to perfection, with apple and onion stuffing, real cranberry sauce, and peppercorn horseradish sauce on the side. Despite the chill, most of the guests moved outside and Jared lit the fireplace. Jensen broke out the guitar he rarely played, and the ones who were moved to, sang a few old ballads around the fire. When it had been long enough for dinner to settle, some stripped and turned to the woods to run.

Jared and Kim cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and packed up the leftovers, working like a team. "So," she eyed him over a glass casserole with turkey slices layered in it as she slid it into the fridge. "Have you thought about where you're going to college?"

Jared gave it a beat. "Harvard."

At the rise of her eyebrows, he went on. "Apparently my birth family has a history there. I thought I'd see how I felt about it."

"It's a great school," she said, approvingly. "Do you know what you're going to study?"

"I really don't, not yet. Probably some business courses, but I want to do philosophy, and history, and one of the sciences, too." He gave a wry smile. "I really haven't settled yet."

"Well," she handed him a clean platter she'd just wiped dry. "You don't have to settle on a major your first year. I think it's exciting, you expanding your horizons this way."

She got a dimpled grin in answer. "Thanks, Ms. R."

Jared took Sandra, a petite, pretty were with long dark hair to the Christmas dance on Friday night after the last day of school before the holidays. In her crimson gown, and Jared in his rented tux, they made a pretty couple.

And on Saturday, he and Jensen were in Boston, in bespoke tuxes and mirror-polished shoes, at a gala thrown by the corporation, at Padalecki House. Jensen could hardly hear the string quartet over the ongoing hum of conversation and laughter as people dressed in their party finery moved from room to room, a sort of eddy as people arrived and joined the throng. Waiters circulated with flutes of champagne and trays of h'ors d'oeuvres. Jensen snagged a round of toast spread with caviar and a glass of champagne, and tried to locate Jared in the crowd.

He couldn't taste the food nor the champagne, his senses full of the cloud of scent that drifted throughout the rooms. Finally he saw Jared, pinned in a corner by a half-dozen members of the Padalecki board. He started to work his way over to rescue the kid, but realized halfway there that Jared didn't need rescue. He was holding forth just fine, countering point for point in the low-scale argument in progress. Jensen watched the kid work for a few minutes. Jared looked up and happened to catch Jensen's eye. Jensen smiled and motioned for Jared to carry on, and made his way toward one of the French doors, and some fresh air.

It wasn't the first gala Jensen attended with Jared. And most of them ended the same way.

Spring run was approaching fast, and Jared informed the Board he had prior commitments and would be unavailable that weekend. He made himself useful again, and it was plain that everybody in Bell Creek was pleased to call him one of them. Betsy Mison, the new clerk at Molly's general store, had been spending time in Jensen's vicinity whenever the opportunity arose, initiating conversation, not flirting, exactly. But Jensen knew that with the slightest encouragement it would quickly become flirting. He gave it some thought, one evening spent loping around the margins of the lake by himself. Jared would be leaving soon. Oh, yeah, he'd be home some weekends, and holidays. But he'd be living someplace else. Jensen had gotten used to having someone else around. Did he really want to go back to solitary living?

After some contemplation Jensen faced the fact that it wasn't company that he had enjoyed for the last few years. It was Jared's company. He stopped and sat to look up at the new moon, hardly a silver eyelash in the dark sky. No company, he realized, was better than the wrong company. With a heavy sigh, he headed for the cabin and Jared, for home.

One last party at the lake. One last run with his friends, and waking in a meadow of damp grass, slumbering bodies all steaming in the rising sun. Jared felt the poignancy of the night before, and this morning as he stood, shook the stiffness out of his frame, and quietly left them sleeping and headed for home.

He'd packed up some of his stuff already, and had been able to unload a lot of it into his dorm room. He still had to meet his roommate, and he hoped whoever it was wasn't an asshole. He guessed he'd soon see.

He had his clothes packed and ready to go. When he hit the stones of the patio and shifted to walk in the open back door, Jensen was in the kitchen, putting the coffee on. He rubbed both hands over his face and scrubbed his hair off his face.

"Good night?" he asked Jared.

"Yeah. Good night."

Jensen smiled. "I'm glad. Hey, you want first shower? I'll have breakfast when you're done, and we can get on the road."

So that's what they did. Jensen left the dishes in the sink—something he never did—and poured the coffee into two travel mugs. He grabbed up Jared's duffel and his messenger bag, leaving the suitcase and second duffel for Jared and went out to start the car.

Jared stood in the doorway for a couple of minutes, taking in the room, refusing to be swamped with memories while he memorized features he'd been so familiar with he barely saw them anymore. Finally, he drew breath, stepped across the threshold and closed the door.

fin

Thank you for reading || And be sure to visit [](https://yanyann.livejournal.com/profile)**[yanyann](https://yanyann.livejournal.com/)'s** [**Art Post**](https://yanyann.livejournal.com/16967.html) ~ Give my artist some love for her awesome work!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author note: I need to thank Wendy for her patience, her cheerful herding of cats, and her perserverance all these years with the SPN_J2 Big Bang. Wouldn't be none without Wendy.
> 
> I need to thank my fantastic artist, yanyan, her images just make me smile—they have their own little bit of happy soundtrack in my head every time I look at them, I love them so. Check her [art post](https://yanyann.livejournal.com/16967.html), and tell her how fabulous she is.
> 
> My betas are saints and saviours. I had trouble getting this story written. Without their faith in me and the story, their encouragement and wise input, it never would have been finished. Meus_venator and onlythefireborn thank you, thank you so much! Read-throughs by anniespinkhouse and sylsdarkplace were also so helpful, especially in the early stages. Thank you all, more than I can say.


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